


Ex-Rick

by Hoodoo



Series: The Long Arm of the Law [3]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: A drunk vindictive asshole, Angst, Banter, Comfort, Confrontations, Death Threats, Demeaning insults, Explicit Language, F/M, Insults, Is he who he says he is?, Minor Violence, Non-Explicit Sex, Questioning motives, Rick Being an Asshole, Surprise! - Freeform, Threats, ex-boyfriend, fight, portal gun - Freeform, unexpected visit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-05 22:17:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13397403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: Things are going well with Cop Rick. Then your ex shows up . . .





	1. Chapter 1

Rick came around on a regular basis. It was the definition of a long-distance relationship: His residence on the Citadel—wherever that was, you’d never been back—and yours on Earth H-122a. 

Sometimes the two of you stayed in your dimension and did normal couple dates: dinner and a movie, walking through museums. Sometimes Rick took you off world to places that were the epitome of alien: weird flora and fauna, breathable water, edible metals. You’d made love under a moon literally close enough in the sky to touch; you’d held hands walking up a waterfall; he’d fucked you in a ‘forest’ where the ‘trees’ giggled and clapped their approval.

There was never enough time with him. His portal gun still had a restriction on it, although it’d been increased to twenty hours. The Council dragged their feet with final approval for actual free rein; he lamented it was because he was a police officer and they didn’t want to lose a member of their force. The temporary permit held him under their thumb; it gave them clearance to hunt him down with force if they thought they needed to.

He’d told you, once, that he’d considered applying for a Council Guard position, but that would strip away even more of what little freedom he had. He certainly didn’t want that, now.

Rick H-122a, whom you’d finally stopped thinking of as ‘your Rick’, hadn’t shown up in a while. You’d let him down gently, you’d thought, explaining to him while he was lucid that it wasn’t working out and while you appreciated all the crazy stuff he’d shown you, you just wanted something more . . . stable in your life. 

It was you, not him, you told him. You fed him one of the biggest lies around.

He seemed to accept it. 

Until the night you came home after work and your-ex Rick was there, drunker than usual, pacing enough to wear a path on the living room carpet.

“Uh, hey, Rick,” you started, “what’re you doing here—“

“You-you-you don’t think I d-don’t _know?!”_ he yelled, incoherently. “You th-think that I—that you just, you just _dump me_ and I wouldn’t f-figure out what was go-going on?!”

Carefully you set down your coat and opened your hands, palms up, to placate him.

“Rick, I don’t know what you’re talking about—“

“You! You and that _pig!_ That _cop!”_ he continued in a loud voice. “I-I-I take you to the Citadel _one_ time and you hook up with that _cop!”_

You don’t know how he’d found out. You should have known better than to think he’d be amiable about a breakup. You sigh, wondering how to talk him down from his rant.

Rick weaved closer to you. The smell of alcohol came off him waves. You want to back up, but he’s pinned you between himself and the corner behind your door.

“How many m-more Ricks are you fucking?” he barked in your face. “How many more are you opening your slut legs for—“

Anger boiled up hotly in your gut. You put your hands on his chest and shoved him away from you, interrupting his accusations. He stumbled back with an ‘oof!’ and you shout back, 

“Shut up, Rick! Don’t you dare accuse me of sleeping around—you slept with so many people while we were together! You could never keep your dick in your pants! And we’re done, so it doesn’t matter who I’m seeing now—“

He was back up in your face before you realized it. With a snake-quick movement, he grabbed your wrist and twisted.

“Don’t you _ever_ push me away like that, you bitch!” he snarled. “And we’re done when I say we’re done—“

He twisted your arm tightly and upward. You yelped. 

With pain radiated from your hand up into your shoulder, you try a different tactic. “Rick, Rick—please, you’re hurting me. Just—stop, please. You’re drunk, let’s sit down and talk about this—“

The chance of him calming down were slim, but you needed to say something to get him off of you. You were still angry, but that was being overtaken by fear.

“Oh, I’m _drunk?”_ he mocked. “Let’s _talk?_ Is that w-what that cop Rick does? Talk about your feelings, and his feelings, and it’s all a big kumbaya hugfest till he sticks his dick in you? Fuck that, bitch. Fuck _you._ I’m drunk tonight because I found out you were fucking around on me. _No one_ fucks around on Rick Sanchez.”

It was on the tip of your tongue to say he was drunk tonight because he was always drunk and you had nothing to do with it, but that fear building in your gut wisely muzzled you.

He yanked you out of your corner and towards the couch. You’re glad to not be trapped there, but his grip hadn’t slipped at all. 

“Rick—Rick,” you said, stumbling after him. His stride was always longer than yours. “Listen! Let me make you some coffee, we’ll talk—“

He spun on his heel and backhanded you smartly across the face.

Your free hand flew to your face as tears well up in your eyes. The metallic taste of blood fills your mouth; the impact made you bite your tongue hard enough to puncture it. Rick had always been physical, but he’d never actually _slapped_ you before. Your anger flared, mixing with the building panic enough to make you nauseous.

“Nothing to say to that?” Rick asked, then nodded sharply. “Good. Should’ve done that a long time ago—keep your bitch mouth shut—“

Despite the pain it puts you in, you yank your hand out of his grip.

“Get the fuck out of my house, Rick!” you shouted. Your words are slightly slurred from your swelling tongue, and a fine spray of blood mists him.

He’s not intimidated. He’s right back up in your face, shouting back, “Bitch, I _told_ you I’m—“

As he came at you, you scrambled back. He met your escape, staying tight on you, till you’re backed up into that corner again and mentally cursing yourself for not trying to get around him. What’re you going to do? He’s drunk but he’s angry, and angry Rick was the worst—

“—what’re gonna do now, bitch?” he crowed as he grabbed you again. “No-nowhere to go, no cop coming to your rescue! He didn’t even—you don’t even have a w-way to contact him, do you? You _know_ that’s how Ricks work, right? You know we take what we want—and if a fine piece of ass like you spreads your legs, you know we’re _using_ you, right? Ricks don’t care about you. I don’t care about you, that fucking _cop_ Rick doesn’t care about you—you’re just a come dumpster for us. You’re nothing.”

More tears flow down your face. 

“That’s not true!” you contradicted.

He snorted in your face, and sneered, “Isn’t it?”

“It’s not! Rick, he . . . he’s . . .”

“Yes?” the Rick in front of you asked, suddenly polite and interested, like he’s your best friend and he’s helping you work out some issues.

“He’s nice and polite and caring!” you tell him, loudly, defiantly. “We do talk! He listens to me, we have fun, he takes me places that are beautiful and interesting—“

“Does he now? Come on, you know Ricks, baby. You met some on the Citadel, I’m sure. Doesn’t it seem a little odd that this _cop_ Rick is so different? Doesn’t it seem a little odd that he’s _so_ nice to you?”

A tiny seed of doubt found a tiny bit of soil in your brain. A tiny root grew.

Rick smirked and repeated. “He’s fucking _using_ you, baby. I don’t know wh-what his end game is. He’s obviously playing you for the long con. No Rick is j-just roses and sweet cream without working towards a personal goal—“

 _“Fuck you Rick get out of my house!”_ you shrieked.

Your sudden explosion didn’t even faze him. He took a leisurely pull off his flask while eyeing you. Then he leaned forward, putting his cheek next to yours. The smell of alcohol and a body that hadn’t bathed in several days wafted over you.

“I want y-y-you to remember all the good times we had. I want you to remember all the fucking _we_ did. You _loved_ it. You couldn’t get enough of it-couldn’t get enough of me. And I want you let me know when-when he dumps your ass, baby,” he whispered coarsely in your ear. “He’s gonna use you up for his own needs, then leave you. When that happens, you-you let me know. There’s nothing I like more than rebounds. Some people call them sloppy seconds, but I love ‘em because that means _I win.”_

You’re so angry, so frightened, so paralyzed with the thought that maybe Cop Rick was everything this Rick said that you don’t even move when he licks you, from your ear to the corner of your mouth. His tongue left a thin wet line that reeked of booze along your cheek.

Rick looked into your eyes, and smirked again.

Stepping back away from you, he pulled his portal gun from inside his lab coat. Holding a hand with thumb and pinky finger to his ear and mouth in the familiar, “call me!” sign, he also blew you a kiss as he opened a portal and stepped through.

The portal constricts to nothing behind him. 

You stayed pressed against the wall in the sudden silence of your living room. Your thoughts swirled as quickly as the portal had, and even though you try to uproot that seed of doubt in your mind, some tendrils remain.


	2. Chapter 2

You called in sick to work the next day. You hadn’t gotten any sleep. The fear that your ex-Rick would just show up again was like a lead weight suspended in your gut. Telling yourself you’d been lucky, that he hadn’t become more physical, didn’t make you feel much better.

Rick’s words ricocheted off the inside of your skull. You weren’t being used! You liked Cop, he liked you—it was a _mutual_ relationship; there wasn’t some nefarious plan behind it! Cop Rick was everything you’d said he was. He wasn’t scheming or abusive—

But what did you know about him, really? He was just a random guy—a random Rick—that you happened to meet. Despite finally accepting that there were infinite dimensions, you’d only known your ex-Rick and him. Except . . . you’d experienced a crowd of handsy, crude Ricks on the Citadel . . . There was a nauseous feeling deep inside you that your ex was right. From the little bit of understanding you’d gained, Cop Rick was an anomaly. 

Were there devious thoughts in his mind? Was he using you for something known only to him? He said he could only spend a certain amount of time in your dimension because of portal gun restrictions; how would you even know if that was true? Maybe it wasn’t something life-shattering, but maybe he showed up, screwed you, then went back to his buddies and laughed at your expense. Maybe you were just another notch on his bedpost. Maybe it was all a joke to him. Maybe _you_ were a joke to him. 

The thought of that was almost worse than just being used in general.

When Cop Rick showed up the next night as planned, portalling outside your door and knocking like a normal human being, he found you looking exhausted. You’d been crying on and off throughout the day when your ex-Rick’s accusations ambushed you, or when the fear that Cop wasn’t what he seemed and you were just an idiot filled your eyes with tears.

“Evening, baby—“ he started, as you opened the door for him. Then, seeing your closed expression and past evidence of your crying bouts, his smile slid from his face and his eyes widened.“—what’s wrong?”

You stood aside mutely and let him enter. 

He glanced around the room automatically as he came inside; it was his habit as an officer. Satisfied all was well, he turned to you as you were closing the door.

“Baby, what’s wrong? What happened?” he questioned, reaching for you.

This was the same position your ex-Rick had forced you in, between him and the corner behind the door, and you flinched away.

“Baby?”

A note of deeper worry tinted his voice.

“I’m . . . Rick, I’m okay,” you lied poorly, and ducked around him, to the couch.

He followed on your heels. When you sat, he sat, closely, but didn’t try to reach for you again. Instead, he held out his hand as an offering, for you to take it or not.

You did.

His hand was warm. Tears welled in your eyes because you didn’t want to believe he could be like your ex said.

“Baby, sweetheart . . .” Rick said again. 

You swiped your forearm on your sleeve to wick away the moisture. He didn’t mention it, but did cock his head to see the side of your face more clearly.

“What happened to your jaw?” he asked. There was a bit more demand in his voice.

You closed your eyes against more tears. There was no use in trying to continue to lie. “Rick from here? From this dimension?”

He nodded, understanding your weak explanation. 

“Rick showed up, here. Yesterday.” 

His grip tightened around your hand.

“He was here when I got ho-home.” You stuttered on the last word, and struggled to keep yourself together before continuing. “He was so _drunk,_ and he was so mad—he was mad I dumped him, he found out about you. He said the worst things . . .”

“What happened to your jaw, baby?” Rick prompted.

You shrugged a little, to dismiss it. “He hit me. It wasn’t much, really, it mostly just-just startled me—“

A dark cast came to his face. He reached for the opposite side of your face and gently tilted your head so he could see it in better light.

“He hit you hard enough to bruise you. You have a bruise along your jawline. Is the inside of your mouth okay? Are any teeth loose?” His questions were demanding, not soothing.

“I bit my tongue . . .”

Rick took a half-breath and held it in longer than a normal beat. 

Finally, he hissed, _“God-fucking-damn it!”_

It was rare he swore like a . . . well, like a Rick. You flinched again because your ex’s words echoed in your ears. Like they were mocking you. Like they were being proven right.

“I-I—fucking _hell—“_ he swore through clenched teeth. His own jaw was tight, and he’d closed his eyes too, as if visual stimulus was going to send him over an edge. Anger rose off him in palatable waves.

You sat, frozen. Scared to move, in case that set him off too.

Without looking at you, Rick said in a deep, furious voice, “How—how’d—“

He paused, cleared his throat, and opened his eyes. They bore into yours; you’d been on the receiving end of those ice-blue stares with laser-like intensity before, but this time was hard and accusatory. This more uncomfortable than you’d ever been with him.

“How’d did-did he get in?” he asked. “Does he have—did you give him a key?”

Oh shit. Does he think you _let_ this happen? Does he think you _wanted_ Rick to come around? You shook your head immediately, ignoring the pain that the movement wrought.

“What?! No!” you cried. _“No!_ I’ve never given him a key! He just portals in. He always just does that!”

The harsh set to Rick’s face lessened, a little. “Okay, baby, okay. I ju-just . . .” He shook his head too, and doesn’t finish his sentence. 

A wisp of that embedded doubt and fear drifted upward. He _did_ think you did it on purpose! You continue to shake your head to add weight to your protests that you had nothing to do with Rick showing up here. New tears prick your eyes.

Rick’s hand goes back to your unbruised cheek and his thumb caressed you.

“I should’ve, s-should’ve thought about that,” he told you, cryptically. Then, much more straight-forward, he said, “I’m going to apply for a portal dampening permit. I’ll install it here in your apartment, and he won’t be able to just drop in any more. Okay? I should’ve considered that, with you and him living here . . .”

He shook his head again, and the grim—and frankly, scary—expression finally fades completely. In its place is the concern you’ve seen before.

“Are you okay? Did he do anything besides, besides . . .”

“He didn’t do anything else, Rick,” you tell him honestly, then squeeze in a half-truth. “He was so drunk. He couldn’t have done anything else. He could barely keep on his feet.”

His eyes lock onto yours again. 

“I’ve dealt with extraordinarily drunk Ricks,” he said, dead-serious. “I know how they can be.”

You do not want to delve into what your ex-Rick said, and how you’re worried, so you don’t rise to the bait that he knows you’re lying. 

“He didn’t do anything else,” you insisted.

Rick pinched his lips together for a moment, but didn’t push you. You both sat quietly for a moment, you wiping your eyes, until he broke the silence with,

“Until I get that dampener in place, I think you should stay with me at the Citadel.”

The suggestion was startling. 

_“What?”_ was your immediate response. “No, no—I can’t do that! You’ll get in trouble! You told me about the restrictions for non-Ricks and Morties—“

You used the word restrictions, which was technically true, but Rick had not pulled any punches when you’d nagged to visit the Citadel again. He had told you about the controls the Council had set in place, all in the name of Rick-protection. And when Ricks snubbed the law—which they did, because they were _Ricks—_ he’d seen visitors suffer anything from simple harassment to rape to straight up lynching. 

The Ricks who brought ‘guests’—that word was not the official Council designation, but it was more polite, Rick had told you—were punished based on how much trouble was caused as a result. Your ex was had only been fined, because you’d been ‘contained’. Other Ricks had been permanently neuralized and dumped back in their dimensions, never to step foot on the Citadel again. 

Some had been executed. Shoved out an airlock, you’d been told with no sugar-coating.

“—you’d lose your job at the very least!” you finished.

Rick seemed to only half hear your protests.

“I could get a temporary license for you,” he considered, thinking out loud. “I know a Rick in the authorization department, he could get me the forms—“

“Rick, no!” 

“—he owes me a favor, he could push it through and if the higher-ups decline it, I know another-another guy who can forge the permission—“

You shook your head, but he isn’t paying attention.

“—we can go tonight. Right n-n-now. Maybe I’ll skip the legal channels, just go for the necessary documents underground—“

You raised your voice. “Rick, _no!”_

At the insistence, he looked up and focused on you again. His brow was furrowed, thinking through the possible solutions to this problem. His expression eased when he saw you were serious and frightened, and he pulled you close. Unlike earlier, when he’d first arrived, you let him.

“I just want you safe, baby,” he murmured into your hair.

You nodded, pressing your face into his neck. “I know, but . . . not like that.”

His chest rose with an intake of air, like he was about to say something, but you continue before he can.

“If that’s something that can happen, you’ve got to go through the proper channels. You can’t just take me there and expect to hide me. They’ll find me. They’re Ricks.”

Rick sighed instead. “You’re right. I-I just don’t want anything to happen to you . . .”

“You’re here with me now—”

“But I wasn’t last-last night! And I’ll be gone tomorrow!” he fretted, upset. “You know I only get a limited—I can only spend a certain am-amount of time here!”

“I know. I know,” you soothed.

His concerns and your worries weave a blanket of ill-feeling over the two of you. It’s not pleasant, and what neither of you wanted for your time together. Rick insisted he was going to apply for a portal dampener at the very least, and try to expedite it, as well as look into any technology that may be available to give you a way to reach him when he’s not with you.

You let him talk, let him worry the problems between his teeth like a terrier. You don’t tell him you don’t want to use any communication device to contact him when he’s not here: You’re reasonably sure that would be illegal in the eyes of the Citadel’s paranoid government, and you won’t risk exposing him to the potential consequences. 

The qualms your ex-Rick planted are a little loosened; where your ex-Rick was possessive, this Rick is protective. 

Tomayto, tomahto, a shitty part of your brain whispered. You tried to quash it, and just let Rick hold you and make his plans.


	3. Chapter 3

Despite your fears, your ex-Rick doesn’t show up again. Despite your fears, Cop Rick is still polite and considerate.

Time, even a short period of it, wears away the sharper edges of your concerns.

You and Rick settle back into a comfortable give and take. He still can’t spend inordinate amounts of time in your dimension; as much as it isn’t what either of you want, you both have learned to live with it.

He showed up, one night, offering to take you to the planet he was pretty sure was the inspiration for the ice-planet Hoth—tauntauns and wampas included! You laughed and told him no, absolutely not, why would you go to a place so cold?

He shrugged. “It’s pretty, when its sun is out. The whole p-place looks like a field of diamonds. And there’s an asteroid belt surrounding it. Sometimes in the right c-conditions-when it’s not too bright it can be seen, which is interesting.”

You give him a blank stare, conveying utter boredom in an expression.

Rick chuckled and took your hand to pull you in close. “And yes, it’s cold—frigid,” he agreed, but added with a raunchy tone, “and that just gives us an excuse to get incredibly close. Sharing body heat and all that.”

“Now we need and excuse to do that? Are we an old couple and our sex life is so boring we have to do it inside a tauntaun?”

He laughed aloud and scooped you up by the waist. 

“No, you’re right,” he agreed, through your laughing protests to put you down. “Let’s save screwing in offal for when everything else is routine.”

“Rick!” you laugh. “That’s disgusting!”

“Mmm-hmm,” he agrees, carrying you the short distance to the couch and dumping you onto it. 

You squawk as you land. He looks down on you, splayed before him.

“So if Hoth is off-off the table, maybe we should get to work on making regular sex boring. You know, doing it enough times that it’s just mundane. Eventually you’ll beg me to go find a tauntaun, just to change things up . . .”

You bite your lip through your smile and reach for him. He tries to take your hands but you bat his away impatiently to go for his belt buckle instead. Once your hook your fingers into it, you give him a tug to bring him down to your level, and with actions instead of words you show him how frisky and un-boring your sex life still was. 

⁂

Afterward, feeling satisfied with a sweet ache in your groin, you lay with your head in his lap on the couch. Some movie was playing—Rick had a thing about watching all the Best Picture winners, in order, and he was up to the late 60s—and he petted your hair while absorbed in the TV. He’s still shirtless, but had put his trousers back on. The fly—even if his belt isn’t buckled—isn’t the most comfortable thing and you shift around in slight annoyance.

Plus there’s only so much of this movie with its little singing British orphans you can take. You sat up.

“You want something to drink?” you ask him. You dig around between the couch cushions and find your previously discarded shirt, and slip it over your head. 

“No. I’m good.”

“Oh, you’re better than good—“ you tease as you stand up. 

He pinches your hip and you skip away from him. You head around the wall separating your kitchen from living space.

You know exactly what’s in the refrigerator but open it anyway and bend over to peer inside. Maybe something new has miraculously appeared. Maybe there’s one bottle of kombucha that you missed way in the back—

Your ass is squeezed, and fingers slip under the elastic of your panties to give it a snap.

“Rick!” you giggle. “Haven’t you had enough? Remember your ‘refractory period’ or whatever—“

“My refractory period is just fine, bitch. And you’re bent over just how I like it—“

Brow furrowed in confusion, you glance back, then stand up in horror. The back of your head hits the inside of the fridge, hard, and you groan, automatically grabbing it. Your instinct, however, is to continue to scrabble backwards.

Your ex-Rick grabs you and spins you around so your back is to his front. “Shh, shh, baby girl,” he whispers in your ear, in a parody of concern. His breath smells like a distillery. “I got you now. Rick’s here to take care of you.”


	4. Chapter 4

You will the ache in your skull to go away, and struggle against him. 

He chuckles and presses his mouth to your throat. 

“It’s so n-n-nice that you’re barely dressed for me,” he continues, squeezing one breast and dipping the other hand down the front of your panties. “And you’re so wet—been thinking about me? Been fingering yourself?”

“Rick!” you yelp.

“That’s r-r-right, baby—I love it when you-you say my name—“

“What?” Rick calls from the other room.

You can’t see his face, but you can certainly feel your ex tense. His fingers spasm to a painful pinch on the softer parts of your body, and you can easily imagine the scowl that crosses his face. 

_“That fucking pig is here,”_ he snarls. It is not a question. 

There’s a pause. The only sound is from the TV.

“Baby?” Rick says from the living room.

The Rick grabbing you shifts the hand between your legs to encircle your throat. 

“Don’t you let him come in here!” he whispers harshly in your ear.

You want to disobey, but those long fingers tighten. “It’s—n-nothing, never mind, Rick!”

“What to do, what to do—“ the bastard holding you says. You can tell it’s to himself. “Portal out of here? I could take—“

Using his self-made distraction, you stomp down, hard, on his foot and twist awkwardly out of his grasp at the same time. Your bare foot isn’t enough to be incredibly painful, but it does startle him. 

You cry, “Fuck off—“ and scramble away, back towards the living room.

Rick manages to wrap his fingers in then ends of your hair and yanks. This is a new pain that erupts from your scalp, compounding with the ache inside your skull, but you continue. Losing a chunk of hair is a price you’re more than willing to pay to get away from this maniac.

You slip and catch yourself. Your momentum is enough to wretch away from Rick behind you, and you swing yourself around the wall.

“What’s going on—“ Rick says, from the couch.

“Rick—he’s here—“ you babble.

Seeing the panic in your face and reacting without asking anything more, Rick is immediately on his feet and reaching for you.

You ex skids on the linoleum too, from around the corner, portal gun in hand and pointed right at Rick

“I don’t fucking think so, pig,” he spits.

Your ex tries to grab you again but you smack him desperately away. You back away from him, as far as you can. Rick tries to move to you, but your ex jerks the portal gun at him and threatens, 

“You don’t think I won’t fucking use this?! I’ll bisect you and this bitch can watch it happen!”

Rick immediately stops and keeps his hands at his sides.

“And turn that shit off!” your ex-Rick demands. “Fucking _Oliver?!_ Best picture should’ve been 2001: A Space Odyssey that goddamn year.”

“2001 wasn’t even nominated for best picture,” Rick replies, like this is a perfectly normal conversational debate during a perfectly normal situation. 

“Shut the fuck up I fucking know that!” Rick screeches.

At his yell you have to resist the urge to drop to the floor in a fetal position. You know it’s better to stay on your feet but you just want to cover up your head. Cop flicks a glance over to you and that simple look gives you enough fortitude to stay upright. Tears prick your eyes, however. 

“I’m going to turn the TV off,” Rick announces calmly. 

He doesn’t turn his back on Rick, just carefully steps backwards to the couch. Slowly he reaches for the remote that he’d left on the arm, and without looking at it, depresses the on/off button. The TV responds immediately with a blank screen.

The silence is almost deafening, but a sob you can’t control escapes you. Your ex-Rick shoots a look between the two of you. 

“This is-is really sweet. A sweet little domestic scene,” your ex says. “Viewing-watching a shitty movie on the couch, like-like cute little l-l-lovebirds. A pig and a-my slut. My slut barely dr-dressed, and _you—“_ he waves the gun at Rick, who’d straightened back up and was again standing with his hands loose at his sides, “—you’re only half-dressed too!”

You don’t say anything. Neither does Rick.

An odd expression of dawning realization winds its way around ex-Rick’s face. “You already fucked her tonight, didn’t you?”

You can see wheels turning in his head, and he spins on you. 

“That _wet?”_ he shouts disjointedly. “That wet—that wasn’t just your soggy pussy—I had my hand in- _I’m covered with his come?!”_

He juggles the portal gun from the hand he’d stuck in your panties to the other and with a dramatic, exaggerated motion wipes his fingers on his lab coat. 

At the movement and distraction, Rick immediately takes a step closer to your ex, fire in his eyes. 

Rick whirls back on him, portal gun aimed directly at his face. “You fucking _try it¸ pig.”_

You gasp. Rick stops several feet away. He still doesn’t put his hands up. Your knees feel weak again, but Rick doesn’t look at you now. He is completely focused on the man in front of him.

“What do you want, Rick?” he asks.

Rick stared back at him, panting a little. “What do I-I—what do I _want?_ I want you the fuck out of here! I want the slut—I al-already told her I didn’t care you’d fucked her, sloppy seconds don’t mean anything to me—she always was a whore for cock, on her knees, on her back, any hole she could get it in—“

“I’m going to need you to stop talking like that,” Rick interrupts.

“You-you-you _what?!”_ Your ex laughed so hard he snorted. “You’re the _shittiest_ excuse of a fucking Rick I have ever- _ever_ had the displeasure of m-meeting. You’re so pussy-whipped—but you know what? Maybe, _maybe,_ if she sucks my cock extra good right here, right _n-now,_ I’ll let you hang around like the fucking cuckold piece of shit you are—“

During his little speech Rick’s aim wavered. Cop chanced another half-step forward to close more distance between them, but even through his laughter and degrading words, Rick snapped his arm back up. 

“You really are a stupid fucker,” he said clearly, all tone of amusement gone from his voice. “I’m done with this.”

In slow motion, you can see Rick’s thumb start to descend on the button of the gun.

“Rick—no! No!” you shriek. Your voice breaks and you manage a shaky step towards him. “Please _don’t!_ I’ll do anything—whatever you want—!”

That thumb stops.

“Anything, bitch?” he asks softly, looking at you. “God, you know how I like-like it when you beg. I never could deny you when you were begging me. So you’d do anything at-at all, huh?”

“Y-yes!” you sob, and take another step closer, with your hands out, pleading.

“Would you fucking die for him?”

You stop short. “Wh-what?”

“I’ve changed my mind, bitch. I don’t want your well-used snatch. Like throwing a hot dog down a hallway, am I right? I think you need to go first.”

He shifts the muzzle of the gun to you. There is only a couple of feet between the two of you; there’s no way he’ll miss. You’re going to die here. He’s going to sever you in two with a portal. Tears flow unchecked down your face. 

“Rick, please, _don’t,”_ you snivel, pathetically. 

Your ex grins and replies, “Fuck you, baby.”

Something strikes Rick smack in the center of his face, making him yowl and stumble backwards. Startled, you cry out again.

Rick is on your ex, tackling him before you can even comprehend what is happening. Frozen in place, you watch the two of them struggle: Rick on top, your ex spitting and flailing like a feral cat. He’s shouting obscenities. Cop is scarily quiet. Straddling your ex’s hips, he has his wrists in each hand. Your ex hasn’t dropped the portal gun, but Cop slams that arm repeatedly against the floor until Rick’s hand spasms and his fingers can no longer hold it. 

“Grab the gun!” Cop orders, loudly.

Although terrified, you scramble to pick it up. Your ex screeches and you scoot back with it clutched to your chest. Hurriedly you wipe your face.

Losing his weapon seems to give your ex an unholy burst of strength. He bucks under Rick, dislodging the officer from his stomach as he punches and claws at his face, leaving three gouges from the corner of his eye to his mouth. 

Rick flinches involuntarily with his eyes closed, and your ex thrashes his way out from under him. 

_“Give me that gun you fucking whore,”_ he hisses, pushing himself off the floor.

Rick is back on him. The weight makes him collapse on the floor again, and even though he tries to escape, Rick manages to twist an arm up and back painfully between his shoulder blades. He also lands a knee on the back of his neck and the other in the small of his back, and kneels with his entire weight on the man below him.

Panting and cursing, your ex-Rick is pinned to the floor. 

“You _fuck!_ You goddamn cocksucking _pig!”_

Rick continues to ignore the curses spewed at him. He looks up at you, panting. “You okay?”

In truth, you’re not sure, but you nod. The grip you have on the portal gun is so tight your fingers hurt. Rick gives you a cursory once-over and nods sharply in return. Then he focuses his attention on the man under him.

“You need to shut up, Rick,” he growls. “You’re digging yourself a deeper hole, and that is not something you should be doing right now.”

“Oh-oh, sure, of course, _Cunt_ stable Sanchez sir!” your ex scoffs back. He tries to spit, but Cop drives his knee more sharply into the back of his neck and Rick’s face is smashed into the carpet. 

The sneer etched on Cop’s face is frightening, but you don’t interrupt. 

“You’re making this worse for yourself,” Rick warns.

Your ex doesn’t heed the advice. His voice muffled, he says, “Wh-what are you going to _do¸_ pig? This isn’t the goddamn Citadel. This is _my_ dimension! You don’t have any jurisdiction here—you’re not Council Guard, you’re barely a step above a fucking mall cop!”

_“I.Will.Kill.You,”_ Rick replies, his voice deep with enunciation on every word. Drool collects on his lower lip. You’ve never seen him look more like a true Rick than at that moment. 

The Rick restrained on the floor is suddenly still. 

“No you won’t,” he counters, just as clearly.

Rick snarls wordlessly and twists the arm he holds tighter, like he’s going to wrench it off. The Rick below him squeals and you jump at the sound. 

Rick looks up at you again. 

You’re panting too, and shaking, from the adrenaline flooding your body. So many tears have dripped from your face the front of your shirt is damp. You work very hard to not sob aloud again, and need to pinch your lips together tightly. It only half-helps; your breath is ragged and painful in your chest. 

The hard expression on Rick’s face eases, just a bit, and he stops twisting the arm below him, but he doesn’t loosen his grip either. He seems to make a decision. 

Through a panting breath, he tells you, “Type this into the gun." 

It takes you a bit of time to type in the coordinates he recites. Your fingers are trembling so much you make mistakes and have to delete some of the digits more than once. It doesn’t help that your ex apparently knows exactly where those coordinates lead, because he starts cursing and struggling against his immobility again, desperately. 

More tears blur your vision as you labor to complete the task. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Rick lean down close to your ex’s ear and say something too quietly to be heard. Whatever he says doesn't calm your ex at all. 

Then, ignoring the man below him, Rick gives you another moment, and asks if you programmed the gun correctly. 

Instead of answering, you turn the portal gun so he can personally read what you entered. 

“Good,” he nods. “Now you’re going take three steps back. You’re going to point the gun between us, to my left, on the floor. You’re going to push the button—“ 

“DON’T YOU FUCKING WHORE—YOU BITCH—DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE—“ your ex screams, his voice cracking. 

“—and I’m going to push him through. Got it?” Rick finishes. 

“—GODDAMN IT DON’T DO IT DON’T YOU DO IT—“ 

The sobs you’ve been trying to hold in burst out. You just want to lay down and curl in on yourself. You can’t do this, you can’t you can’t— 

“Okay, baby?” Rick asks you quietly, between the screamed words. 

You open your eyes. Rick is looking at you steadily. How can he be so calm? How can this not affect him— 

“Okay, baby?” he repeats. 

You gasp another sob. “O-okay!” 

“On three, then. One—“ 

You point the muzzle of the gun where bid. You are shaking so much it takes two hands to hold it even somewhat steady. 

“—two—“ 

Your ex’s words degrade to a wordless, animalistic screech of abject terror. 

“—three!” 

You depress the button. The familiar oval of eddying greens erupt in your floor and Rick, in a smooth, seemingly easy movement, lifts himself off your ex-Rick and by using leverage, dumps him unceremoniously through the portal. 

The swirling doorway constricts out of existence, and everything is suddenly eerily still and quiet. 


	5. Chapter 5

That weakness that’d been in your knees telegraphs through your body, and you sway. 

“I guess we should’ve gone to that ice-planet, huh?” you try to joke. It's broken, though, by a lilt in your voice that careened close to hysterical.

Just before you can’t keep on your feet, however, Rick is there, catching you. He pulls you against him, using the long line of his body to keep you upright. He doesn’t laugh at your comment.

He holds you but you can’t return it; every resource in your body seems depleted. Except for tears, that is. You aren’t sure they’ll ever stop.

“Baby, oh—shh,” Rick soothes, running his lips over your forehead before cradling your head against him. Your damp and flushed cheek pressed stickily to his chest. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“I’m okay--I mean, I hit my head, but I’m okay,” you tell his sternum. You make an effort to stop the damn crying and look up at him. “Wh-what about you? Oh, your face!”

Still quivering, you ghost your fingers over the marks gouged there, from eye to mouth. 

“I’m fine. That’s nothing—easy to-a snap to fix. You’re sure you okay?”

You nod quickly.

Rick searches your face to verify you’re not lying, and relief suddenly makes him sag.

“Oh, thank god. I was so scared, baby—I was so scared he was going to hurt you—“

His confession startles you.

“—I-I thought he was going to do s-something and I wasn’t g-g-going to be able to stop him in time and you-you—you were going to be-be-be hurt—“

Now it’s your turn to soothe him. The portal gun tumbles from your hand—you were still holding it?—and you hug him tightly, whispering the same mindless pacifying words to him. 

Eventually you both calm enough to let go. You head to the bathroom and your foot catches the remote control, sending it spinning across the floor. Rick had sunk back to the couch cushions, but looks up at the noise. 

“I put it in the waistband of my pants,” he tells you, in your confusion. “You distracted him and he didn’t know I p-put it there—he never told me to t-t-turn around. And when he had the gun pointed at you-when he was focused on you, I threw it at him. Lucky s-shot, to hit him in the face.”

You nod dully, like of course a remote control could be a weapon, and continue to the bathroom. You splash cold water on your face, and soak a washcloth so you can dab it on his too. You also grab some antibiotic ointment; maybe he can get better care at the Citadel, but there’s no sense not doing something about the scratch marks on his face now.

When you return to the living room, Rick is holding the discarded portal gun in his hand and looking thoughtfully at it. 

“Where did you send him?” you ask.

“That’s not important,” he answers, dismissively, which means it is. “I’m sorry that it—that the portal dampener hadn’t been approved yet. It’s bullshit. They're dragging their goddamn feet on purpose. N-none of this would have happened if—“

You interrupt him. “Rick, it’s over. It’s done.”

He sighs and looks up at you. “Yeah. I guess.”

You take him back to the couch and carefully press the washcloth to his face. He grimaces at the cold and pain.

“What’re you going to do with his gun?” you ask, since he’s still holding it.

“My first instinct is to smash the hell out of it,” he replies harshly, truthfully. Then he sighs again and says in a calmer tone, “But that would bring Council Guards here, and we’d have to explain everything that happened. It’d be a red tape-a red tape nightmare.

“So I’m g-going to take it back with me to the Citadel tomorrow and take some aggression out on it there. I’ll have all the paperwork filled out and ready to go when the Guard knocks on my door.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with them alone!”

He smiles, a little. “And you shouldn’t have to deal with them at all, baby. I’ll put everything in the report.”

You try to look convinced, but don’t quite pull it off. 

“And I’ll put in there they can interview you too, if it’s necessary,” he compromises. “But only if I’m with you.”

You nod.

Finishing nursing the marks on his face makes tears sting your eyes again, but at least now you’re able to hold them in check. 

You don’t feel like you’re going to be able to sleep, but Rick makes you come to bed with him. Typically you don’t cuddle when you’re about to drift off, but tonight he spoons you and you keep hold of his arm over your belly. In the dark, you whisper your thanks.

“I’m so glad you’re safe, baby . . .” he murmurs into your hair. “I don’t . . . I don’t know what I’d do . . .”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, or if he does, you don’t hear it. Exhaustion—from the dissipation of adrenaline, from the stress of the evening—catches up to you, and you’re gone.

_fin._


End file.
